City of Rust
by Ignika Kaita
Summary: Throughout history, civilizations have risen and fallen. So much of it is lost these days. But during The War, a warship crashes onto an island ripe with treasures... and horrors. What secrets did they unearth, and bury? To answer that, one must travel back in time. Back to The War... and into insanity. Rated T for language, violence, and possibly blood and gore to follow.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY, but I do own all OCs in this fanfic._

_**Prologue**_

_**Several years before the present day, sometime after The War...**_

_Remnants… _

Remnant. That was the name of his world. Or at least, the man believed it to be so. History tends to get disoriented these days.

Civilization has always been built upon the histories of the old. Sadly, though, the tyrants of his time don't seem to realize that. Instead, they insist on burning the truth and burying whatever they couldn't destroy. They're more interested in living through their lies rather than embracing the cold truth.

_Byproducts… _

A man was pacing back and forth in his cell, oblivious to the world outside. The white chamber he had known for so long had deprived him of all color. His skin became a ghostly pale, his eyes became glass, his hair withered into grey. This room, this asylum, had deprived him of his very soul.

The Kingdoms were nothing more than soulless machines. In this world, the people are only fleshy puppets, playthings of their rulers. They had already taken away their voices, their freedoms. But now… now they were taking away life itself.

_That's all we are…_

They were making the mistakes of the old ones. He saw what became of them, how they brought about their own downfall. He wouldn't be surprised if this was his world's destined fate. To drown in its own ignorance and fade from history.

The door to his cell opened, with several figures swarming into his prison. Most of them were brutes, corrupt guards serving their more twisted overlords. They had come to "escort" him again, to the interrogation room. This wasn't his first trip there, and it likely wouldn't be his last either.

Sighing, he accompanied them to the chamber. He had already told his story a thousand times, and yet they insisted on hearing it again and again. They seemed to think that he had access to some treasure grove or something. What he saw was by no means a treasure.

He could see remember it all like it was yesterday. The storm that sunk his squad's ship. The island they had washed up on. The metallic abominations that butchered his brothers in arms.

And that face… That wretched, withering face. That dead eye and the broken optic beside it. A gaping hole where the lower jaw and throat should've been. A near-corpse on life support.

And his voice… that damned, _infernal_, _**maddening**_ _**VOICE!**_ He could still hear that metallic wheezing in his head. He could still sense an appalling, scrapping sound echoing from the shadows. And he could still feel the old one's words slithering around in the back of his mind.

The next thing he knew, he found himself at a table, in a room of navy-blue. Sitting on the opposite side was a scrawny man, with a towering brute beside him. This was no doubt his interrogator, sent from the tyrant. He could easily see the political ambition in his eyes as well, a typical trait these days.

But something caught his eye. On the table was a metal, skull-like object. Its ruby-red optics bore its way into the man's soul, sending him a familiar chill. He recognized that face.

Looking over the interrogator's shoulders, he could make out another metallic object in the back. It possessed a skeletal appearance, with talons and claws in place of feet and hands. Within the ribcage was some sort of cylindrical chamber, with a circular glass window. On the floor were large wings, no doubt once part of the machine.

The man's eyes widened. Cold sweat ran down his face, lips sputtering. Flashes of copper and obsidian ran through his mind. The taste of rusted iron was in the air. A second later, a fresher scent of iron came. This one though, was crimson.

He snapped back into reality when he heard the worm's voice.

"You recognize this, don't you?" He inquired, with a hint of something beneath the words. Was that supposed to be a taunt?

The man just nodded. His warden slid some sort of paper towards him. It was a map of their world.

"Where did you last see this?" The politician asked.

The soldier only pointed towards a speck of nothing below Mantle. The other frowned.

"There's nothing in that area," He said. "Nothing but seas and storms."

The man gave a sad smile. "That's only the outside of the damn place," He replied. "Nothing but a shell to keep out the world."

"And you managed to bypass this?" The figurehead asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not intentionally," The hoary one admitted. "We sailed right into the middle of some sea battle, and ended up taking part in it. The next thing everybody knows, some storm appears outta nowhere and trashes us. Those of us that survived were sucked right into the eye of it."

An earthquake ruptured within his head. He grabbed his forehead in pain, wincing as he closed his eyes. Time was rewinding before him, the past corroding the present. The room rotted away, revealing ruins of some nameless city.

Factories littered the land, their fires still burning like miniature suns. Skyscrapers were crumpling into dust on the horizon. Homes and shelters were burnt away, leaving charred skeletons in place. In short, it was an industrial hell on Remnant.

Sadly, he won't be forgetting about it anytime soon. And neither would his captors. Once more, he told them of the brass horrors he saw. Once more, he dove into the darkest recesses of the past. And once more, he would stare into the eyes of insanity itself.

_And it in turn would stare back into his…_


	2. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY, but I do own all OCs here.**_

_**City of Rust: Chapter 1**_

_**Several years ago, during The War…**_

The seas… not exactly the most pleasant thing you want to be in. True, there are nature's masterpieces, works of art surpassing that of any of Man's. But they're not just some mere sculptures on display, oh no. They're in constant motion, without aim or rhythm. And like any force of nature, they have the potential to kill and destroy.

Man isn't really into the arts these days. If anything, they're downright forbidden. Books, paintings, poetry, songs, sculptures… they're all regulated and controlled. At best, art was dead during those days. At worst, it was nothing more than mindless propaganda.

This soldier wasn't some fool, though. A tool, perhaps, but certainly not some blind weapon like the rest of his brothers in arms. He saw the corruption that plagued the world, the disease that was eating away at it. Alas, he doesn't possess the power or means to change any of that.

And besides, there were other pressing matters to attend to.

On the floorboards lay a grey-haired man, bearing fiery orange-red eyes. His armor was a gunmetal grey, with hints of silver. He bore a helmet over his head, hiding most of his features. Holstered on one side of him was a standard sword, the other a pistol. And right now, he was buried under a number of weapons.

He was examining the armory when something rocked the ship. He remembered falling to the ground face-first, then a sharp pain at the back of his head. When he awoke, here he was, tangled under maces and other heavy weapons. The world was a blur and his ears were ringing.

After a minute of struggling, he managed to pull himself out of the debris. The ringing got worse as he rose back onto his feet, but it subsided after a few seconds. Another sound entered his ears, though. No wait, not sounds…

_Voices._

"Man down! Man down!"

Racing toward the source, he found himself starring into a gapping whole. He could make out countless ships beyond, ranging from across all of Remnant. They were all locked in combat, battering each other with cannon fire. Some of them went up in flames, others crumpled into the waves below.

He turned to notice an injured man nearby, clutching at his legs. Or rather, where the legs once were. There was some type of trail originating from the hole, carved between the two men. It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened.

Beside the unfortunate fellow was an unarmored man, bearing a white uniform and coat. He was already bandaging the victim's wounds with his gloved hands, glowing with a faint flicker of Dust. He had some capsules of the substance holstered on his belt, each a different color. It was obvious that he was a medic.

The man rushed to the doctor, kneeling near his brother-in-arms. "Is he alright? The hell happened here!?"

The doctor glanced back at the soldier, rather surprised. "_'What happen?'_" He asked in disbelief. "What happened is that we're under attack!"

Everyone flinched as another cannonball burst through the wall, though thankfully nowhere near them.

"Who're we dealing with?" Asked the man.

The field medic shot him another look. "Against the whole world, who else? Everyone's strangling each other's throats out there. Have you been living under a rock or something?!"

"Under a bunch of heavy weapons, actually," Replied the other. "Got my head bashed in when the ship quaked. I'm gonna guess that the enemy's responsible."

"Yep," Said the white-garbed one. "Just about all of the Kingdoms stormed onto this ship. It's a slaughter house up ahead, every man for himself-"

"Put your hands up!" Came a third voice.

Everyone turned around to see some men behind the doctor. Several soldiers had just turned the hall and came before them. They weren't wearing their faction's usual garbs, so they couldn't be their men. Oh, and they were pointing their weapons at them.

Everyone did as the intruders said, putting their hands behind their heads. A shot went off from distance, striking one soldier in the back. When the others turned to investigate, the warrior leapt at them. He rammed his blade through one, breaking through his Aura shield. In a whirl, he knocked back another and sent a head flying.

Before the fallen could rise, he was gunned down by two more shots. Emerging from the dark was another of their comrades, clan in an armor very much like theirs. Beneath that helm lay sapphire hair and grey eyes. He knew his man all too well. This was his brother-in-arms.

"Late to the party again, Fintan?" Laughed the savoir.

The awoken cracked a slight smile under his helmet. "I blame the guests," He replied. "What's the situation, Brook?"

The rescuer's tone came out stern. "Captain's boarded himself up in his cabin. Man can't man this ship with the enemy right at his doorstep. We're gonna have to plow a path for him."

"Then what're we waiting for?" Smirked Fintan. He turned towards the medic. "Think you can handle yourself while I'm gone?"

The man drew out a pistol of his own, nodding. The men left, weapons in hand. Slipping out of the hold and onto the deck, they found themselves in a world of chaos. Men from every known faction threw themselves into a bloody free-for-all. Bullets, Dust, arrows, and all other manners of weaponry clouded the skies above.

Of the combatants broke off from the brawl, noticing the two soldiers. He charged, blade before him. Fintan strafed around the man, the sword brushing against his armor a bit. He slashed at the man's back with his own, but the latter's Aura held up. A shot from Brook sent the enemy staggering back a bit, the grey-haired man sweeping his leg under him. The intruder toppled backwards, with the soldier burying his blade into the trespasser's stomach.

This caught the attention of more invaders, rushing into the fray. One was gunned down by the man's friend, lacking an Aura's shield. Another dodged the bullets, clashing blades with him. One tried to sneak up on him, only for the warrior to twirl his opponent around and use him as a living shield. The poor fool didn't last long, the other being having his head blasted off.

The ship rocked as cannon-fire collided into the hull. Some men were thrown overboard, into the bottomless blue below. Others were blown to bits, painting the decks red. Everyone else was being tossed around like ragdolls. Luckily for the two combatants, they were flung near the cabin. Unfortunately, it was already torn apart by the attack. Its occupant didn't fare so well either.

"Shit," Cursed Brook as he saw the bloody mess.

"So much for Plan A," Sighed the other man. "Any ideas for a Plan B?"

The blue-haired man turned towards his comrade. "We retake the ship ourselves." He said.

As luck would have it, the bridge wasn't that far away from them. Only problem was that a Dust user was blocking the way. The robed mage-like figure spawned a rune under his feet, glowing a pale blue. The men scrambled, splitting off from one another. Brook found himself encased in a prison of ice, everything below the neck frozen.

Fintan strafed around the elemental blasts left and right, inching himself closer and closer. Just as the enemy was about to charge up for an even greater attack, the man fired his pistol. Startled, the warlock dodged the bullet, releasing the Dust prematurely. It zigzag across the ship, striking anyone unlucky enough to be in its twisted path.

The grey-haired warrior rammed the sword through the man's chest, a crimson substance leaking out of the cloak. He lowered the body down, allowing the fighter to pass away in peace. Mumbling a vague prayer towards the fallen, he broke his friend out of the sculpture. The two climbed into the bridge, their jaws dropping. They were surrounded by numerous switches and buttons, with a steering wheel at the center.

"So… what now?" Asked Fintan.

"No idea," The other admitted. "Just make shit happen, I guess."

Just as the former strode towards the wheel, the vessel rocked again. Only this time, it wasn't from canon fire. Rather, it was from a bolt of lightning. Before either one could speak, another streak fell from the skies, striking the bow. A great number of soldiers were burnt to a crisp, blown away as it tore through the deck.

Both warriors jumped at the sight of dark clouds ahead. The wind howled at the armies, sending a shiver down everyone's spines. A tempest shrieked across the battlefield, toppling some ships. Another was downed by a tsunami, sinking into the bottomless pits below. One struck the control room of their vessel, the equipment exploding right in their faces.

The warship groaned, barely able to balance itself in the storm. One final bolt sliced its way through the ship, cutting it in half. All hands onboard screamed as they fell into the savage wave, though all sound was drowned under the vessel's own agony.

Fintan struggled in the currents, barely able to prevent himself from being pulled under. He clung onto a piece of debris, climbing on top of the metal sheet. As fair as he could tell, he was the only one to be this lucky. That wasn't the case, as an explosion from the metal corpse sent a fragment flying right into his face.

The man was flung back into the sea, the world darkening as he sank. He remained concise for what felt like an eternity, barely able to make out anything around him. He could feel the weight of his lungs rising, his body attempting to cough out the invading contents. At last, it gave up, allowing the waves to carry it away…

**_…straight into the infernal pit beyond._**


	3. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY, but I do own all OCs here.**_

_**City of Rust: Chapter 2**_

_**Several years ago, during The War…**_

Pain. That was the first thing his brain could register in that moment. The world was still shrouded in darkness, even as his eyes opened up. He coughed and sputtered, feeling a great weight being lifted from his chest. His vision returned after a few fits, finding a maroon sky above him. Black clouds loomed above him, yet there wasn't any thunder or lightning. Behind it all, he could see a burnt-orange sun.

He rolled over, coughing out more water. Whipping his mouth with his armored sleeve, he noticed grains of sand on his armor. He turned his head around, spotting the ocean behind him. Several miles off, he could see a great fog circling around the island. He spotted a few wrecked ships here and there, of varying designs and age.

_Looks like I wasn't the first one here._ He noted.

A glint of light caught his attention. He turned his head towards the source, a good distance from himself. He squinted his eyes, noticing a blur behind the flash. Could it be a survivor? He checked his holsters, noticing that all of his gear was missing. The man cursed his luck. Reluctantly, he strode across the beach.

The sound of water crashing against the shore echoed across the beach. He casted glanced at random directions on occasion, expecting some Grimm to jump out and maul him. Instead, there was nothing. No monsters, no seagulls, no crabs. If anything, the whole place seemed… well, _dead_.

He reached his destination. He found himself standing before what appeared to be warehouses, tough most of them were just metal skeletons. The largest stood near the water, still standing proud and strong. A ship was near-by, though hardly seaworthy. Much of it had rusted away, and seemed to be on the verge of sinking.

He walked towards the warehouse, spotting (what he presumed to be) the main entrance. He grabbed at the handle, but it wouldn't budge. He tried pulling and pushing the door, but he got the same response. Releasing a frustrated sigh, he looked back at the boat. Maybe it had some supplies there? One half of his brain thought so too, but the other one was against the idea.

Sighing, he made his way over to the ship. It seemed to be a steamboat, judging from the paddlewheel and smokestacks. Its white paint was already shipping off, and what hasn't was covered with a sickening pale-yellow. Some portions of the ship was also coated in pitch-black, likely remnants of smoke. It was rather large, probably some type of luxury cruiser. It must've been… what, over three hundred feet long and sixty-five tall?

The man crept across the landing stage, stepping over at least one or two gaps in it. The deck was a faded crimson, riddled with rot. Close by was a crane, its worn ropes attached to the walkway. There seemed to be another landing stage in the water, thought its own crane was nowhere to be seen.

Something caught his eye. There, sitting limply behind a stand, was some type of automaton. It vaguely resembled a Caucasian man, with well-kept brown hair and a curled mustache. Its body seemed to resemble a tuxedo, though much of it was covered in mold. Portions of the shell had seemed to have been smashed off, revealing gears and clockwork beneath it. One of its optics was missing, sparks occasionally leaping from the opening. Its remaining eye emitted a dim, haunting sunny-yellow.

The machine stirred, straightening itself. The back leapt back, surprised.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," Spoke the machine. "To the-"

The automaton paused mid-sentence, twitching in an unnatural manner. It repeated its words for a brief moment before it could finish.

"-to the _Father of Innovation_." It finished. "We are honored to have such fine guests aboard our humble ship. If you have any questions, feel free to speak to me or any of the other staff members. Please, enjoy your stay."

The machine went limp, the optics dimming out. The man tapped the thing, yet he got no response. He glanced down at the hole, noticing a glimmer from it. He raised an eyebrow, crouching down. Bring his face before the gap, he could make out something glowing behind the machinery. He recognized that glimmer anywhere.

_Is that… Dust?_ He thought to himself.

Fintan slipped his hand through the hole, bending and twisting it around gears. He felt a jolt as his fingers brushed against the crystal. He grabbed the object, slowly removing it from the automaton. He smiled as he inspected his prize.

Judging from the yellow glow, it seemed to possess the Element of Lightning. He was no mage, but he did know some of the basics of utilizing Dust in combat. Reaching down to his right leg, he managed to open up a hidden panel in his armor. While it was intended for hiding knives and rations, one can fit other stuff into it. Placing the shard inside, he closed the panel and began exploring the ship.

It appeared that his assumption of it being a luxury was correct. There was hardly any place for cargo, and what room there was seemed to be orientated towards the passengers. The odd thing, though, was that all of the rooms were bare, lacking any sort of furniture. Even the largest one (which he presumed to be a saloon or ballroom) was a wooden void.

Climbing his way to the top floor, he stumbled upon the ship's calliope. The organ hadn't faired that well against the river of Time. Many of the whistles were missing, the rest still rusting away. A number of keys were gone as well, wires dangling out of where they once were. But what caught his attention was its occupant.

There, slouched on the keyboard, was another mechanical figure. Unlike the last one, it bore little to no resemblance to a human. Its body was a dull brass, covered in soot and grime. The head resembled that of a bullet, with a filter-like piece in place of a "mouth". The optics were an emerald-green, while the shoulders seem to have some type of vents built into them. A large pipe was welded onto its back, chest possessing what appeared to a furnace or stove. Judging from all the cobwebs, it hadn't been active for quite some time.

He kept his distance from it. For all he knew, it could've been rigged with a bomb or something. He crept into the pilothouse, finding himself before a series of switches. In the center was the ship's wheel, rotting away. To his left were the remnants of a woodstove, the door hanging on a single bolt. On the opposite side was a last bench, with a skeleton laying on it.

The remains bore what appeared to be a sailor's attire, the cap laying on the floor. Wine bottles were nearby, collecting dust. What caught his attention was the hole on the skull's left side. He glanced down, spotting a pistol in the figure's hands. Fintan removed the weapon, examining it. Apart from the dust and grime, it appears to be just fine. He checked the pockets of the captain, claiming whatever bullets the poor man had left. He also relieved him of his knife.

He grabbed the bottles, setting them atop on the stove. He loaded the pistol, taking a deep breath. He fired, scattering glass across the room. Another bang sounded off, blasting another one of them. He smiled, placing both weapons in his holsters. He turned back to the stove, spotting a glint of light in it. He raised an eyebrow, reaching his hand in and yanking something out.

To his surprise, it was a handheld radio. Or at least, it seemed to be. The half of the front seemed to be some of screen or door, with what appeared to be a cassette inside. At the bottom seemed to be some type of speaker. He tilted it by its sides, noticing a few buttons. He pressed the largest one, the top half of the front side popping open. Inside was a cassette tape, its cover long since faded away. He slipped it back in, closing the slot. He flipped back to the buttons, pressing the green one.

He expected it to play some type of recording, maybe music or something. Instead, all he got was a puff of smoke and the tape being launched into his forehead. He grunted in pain, retrieving the cassette. The magnetic tape was spilling out, caught in jumbles. He cursed his luck.

He paused, feeling a grove on the other side. Closing the door down, he spotted another odd sight. There was a flip switch, one half being green and the other red. Two dials were beside it, one with a megaphone-like icon on one of them. The other possessed a dot with two crescent lines above it, bending around it. He flipped the switch to "on", and watched as the player's window turned to a lime-green.

Some squiggly line appeared on the makeshift screen, followed by static. Some numbers appeared in the top right corner, though he had no idea as to what they represented. He glanced back at the dials, twisted each of them a couple of times. A voice came through the speaker, though much of it was drowning in white-noise. Whatever did make it through the sound was nothing more than gibberish.

A hoarse ringing clawed its way into his eardrums. He clenched his ears in pain, trying to block it out. He ran out of the pilot house, following the sounds. He was surprised when he discovered the source to be the calliope's whistles, spitting out rust and steam. He was even more shocked to see who was playing the instrument.

Sitting in the chair was the automaton from earlier. Its fingers danced across the keyboard, playing the decaying rhythm. The drone rotated its head around in a 180 degree turn, catching the man off-guard. Its eyes glowed a dim forest-green, burrowing their way into his. It stopped playing the pipe organ, and lifted one of its arms. A narrow finger pointed towards the smog, the man's head following suit.

There, beyond the black haze, was a group of towering shapes. The tallest of them all was the most complex in design, bearing spike-like structures on it. Another seemed to be a great ring, twisting and bending in the air. But one in particular grasped his attention. One of the silhouettes was producing flames.

_Fire…_ Fire meant life. Life meant people. People meant help…

Or death. After all, he and his homeland were at war. Given the situation, though, he was willing to take the risk.

An earthquake went off within Fintan's head, causing him to kneel. When the pain subsided, the automaton was lying on its faceplate again, cobwebs and all. He raised an eyebrow. Didn't that thing just move earlier?

Before he could answer his own question, the instrument exploded. A claw seized the machine as it flew upwards, its owner following suit. The being in question was a lycanthrope-esc entity, with black fur and blood-red eyes. Bone-like structures were growing all around its body, often in the form of spikes. The only exception to that was the skull-like casing around its head. The man recognized this beast as a Beowolf.

The Creature of Grimm flung the drone at the human, who ducked in response. The monster charged forth, grabbing the soldier by the throat. It brought him to its face, snarling and bearing its teeth. The beast threw him off the ship, sending him face-first onto solid earth. As he lifted his head up, he noticed his shadow changing shape.

Alarmed, the man rolled to the side, narrowly dodging the claw that came down. Another one nicked his shoulder as he rose, draining a bit of his Aura. The beast lashed out with its jaws, the man strafing around it as it struck. He fired a few rounds into its back, staggering it. It spun around, slashing across his chest.

Fintan recoiled in pain, watching his Aura flicker. The Grimm used the opportunity to pounce on him, trying to sink its teeth into his throat. The soldier grabbed onto its jaws, trying to keep it from closing down on him. Still holding his pistol in hand, he shoved it into the monster's jaws and fired away. The thing went limp and collapsed on him, a shadowy mist rising from it. The man shoved the fading corpse aside inspecting himself. So far, his Aura and armor absorbed the majority of the damage. He silently thanked his drill sergeant for that.

He reloaded the gun, glancing around for signs of any more Grimm. To his relief there weren't any more around. This one must have split off from his pack or something. Right now, though, he wasn't in the mood for a welcoming party. He cast his gaze towards the sky, towards the hidden giants.

_Follow the flames._ He told himself.

He slipped his gear into their respective holsters, his hand still hovering over the gun. His eyes caught sight of a gravel road, scared and broken. A rusted sigh lay beside it, the words on having long since faded.

_Now where in the world does this lead to?_ He wondered.

He walked over to the pathway, finding himself at the edge of the pier. The road disappeared into a grey mist, cloaking whatever lay beyond. He glanced around for any alternative roads, but he found none. He sighed. It wasn't much, but it was his best soldier began his trek again, following the ash-grey pathway.

_**If only he knew what lay ahead…**_


End file.
